


Tangled

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Awkward Sexual Situations, Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Fem!Moryo, Food, Genderswap, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod is drawn to Caranthir, but approaching Caranthir isn't the easiest thing in the world (especially not with six brothers in the way)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“What?” Carnistir yawned and rubbed her head, squinting up at Findaráto from her perch on the sofa, then her gaze followed Findaráto's own to her naked chest, and her breasts. “You'd never seen boobs before?”

Her breasts weren't big and didn't seem to match her chest, which was too large, as her shoulders were too wide, for a woman. Freckles dusted the skin between them, scattering down from her shoulders, and Findaráto found he couldn't take his eyes off them.

“No, I-...it's just -”

The nipples were dark pink and stood out against her very light skin like porphyry against marble.

“You're the one who barged into this room while I was taking a nap”. Carnistir lifted both arms to try to tame her ruffled hair, which stuck out in every direction except down.

Findaráto wasn't sure how many people napped half-naked in a workroom, and Curufinwë had said she was working, _and_ the door had been ajar, so he had simply let himself in after knocking. “It's a matter of modesty,” he objected, unconvincedly, and winced at how lame it sounded.

“Modesty?” Carnistir frowned, pinning her notorious scowl on him. “You try to keep up modesty while you're stuck in the middle of nowhere with six brothers for months.” She bent, reaching under the sofa, and fished out a shirt, which she slipped over her head. It wasn't her own. Judging by its size, it could have been Tyelcormo's or ever Maitimo's. “Anyway, I hope you didn't come all the way here to discuss my lack of modesty? Not interested.”

“No, in fact, I wanted to ask you if you could make a shawl for me.”

“For your Vanya girl?”

“...yes.”

“And there's nobody else who can waste their time trying to make that dull doll look more alive than she is?”

Findaráto stiffened. It wasn't the first time Carnistir spoke of Amárië in a disparaging way. The whole idea to commission a present for her from his cousin had been absurd from the start, and he tried – vainly – to remember what his reasoning behind it had been (whatever it had been, it had not been fit to survive Carnistir's stark presence). But he couldn't back down now. “I saw the shawl your mother wore to the harvest festival. It was...exquisite.”

To Findaráto's surprise, Carnistir looked flustered, and for a moment he thought she would perhaps soften a bit.

“You'll have to pay. Full price, like anybody else.”

Findaráto sighed. “...fine.”

Carnistir walked to a shelf, kicking aside the scraps of fabric and tangled ends of yarn and thread that littered the floor, to retrieve a hefty tome and several sheets of paper crammed inside a leather folder. She threw them all on the table standing near the large windows positioned so that the light of the trees would flood the room. “Here are some models...choose whichever you like, so we can discuss materials and prices. ...or would you rather discuss them with my tits?”

The shirt (definitely Maitimo's, though it was hard to imagine what it had been doing where Carnistir had found it) had slipped off one of her shoulders and Findaráto's eyes had automatically latched onto her freckles once again.

“Lecher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter as a fill for a prompt in the kink meme, and was then asked to continue it on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you need help?”

“I can manage on my own.”

Carnistir had just come out of a yarn seller's shop, carrying an impossible amount of skeins, and two rolls of fabric besides. She nodded to Findaráto and made to head towards the western end of the road, but one of the rolls threatened to slip from under her arm. Findaráto caught it and gently eased it, together with its companion, from the precarious hold. Carnistir glowered at him for a moment, but didn't protest.

They started walking together in silence, awkwardly. They hadn't seen each other again after the shawl had been handed over and paid for, ten days before (it still had to reach Amárië), and would have had no reason to.

Findaráto peered at the many bundles – all wrapped in long ribbons – in his cousin's arms with gratitude. “Why so much yarn?” 

“I have projects and commissions to finish, quickly. We're leaving in three weeks.”

“Leaving?” 

Carnistir scrunched her nose. “I heard myself using that word, yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not sure. Ask Father.”

Findaráto's curiosity didn't go that far. “Doesn't it bother you? To be constantly moving from place to place, without even knowing where you're headed?”

“...all in all, better than staying here...it gets monotonous after a while.”

“Simply because you're not used to town life.”

The retort left Findaráto's lips before he could properly weigh its implications. There was truth to it, but Carnistir was bound to take it the wrong way. Plenty of people already lost no opportunity to comment on her lack of social grace, just as readily as they asserted that she purposefully kept her hair messy to hide the fact that she was, like her mother, not beautiful.

“Can I spend some time with you before you leave?” the younger elf hastened to ask before his cousin's temper could get in the way of his intentions.

“Why this sudden need for my company?” 

“We're friends.”

It was not the most apt justification, but he couldn't tell her that what really spurred him was a not wholly appropriate attraction. He had been forced to admit to himself that he was interested in her – not as a cousin, or a friend. It wasn't romantic interest, either. He certainly didn't feel content in her presence as he did with Amárië, but he was determined to descry every possible facet of it, and would not let the opportunity presented by the unexpected encounter go to waste. 

“None of my friends are blond.”

 _'Who are your friends?'_ Findaráto nearly blurted. The very notion of her having friends was bizarre to him – what with her personality and her long absences. “We're cousins.”

“The fingers of one hand are too many to count the number of times we've talked to each other outside of official events.”

“Precisely because you're rarely here.”

Carnistir's eyes narrowed at his dogged insistence, but she seemed to give his request some serious (perhaps a little too earnest) consideration. She shrugged at last. “Fine then, as long as you don't get in the way of my work.”

The workroom was cleaner than the first time he had been there. Carnistir set the skeins on the table, and spent a considerable amount of time sorting them and rolling them up carefully in pristine cloths (Amárië's shawl had been stored in the same manner). She ignored Findaráto's presence, but it was enough for him to be able to observe her. She was tall, and somewhat lanky, with a long pointed nose and her father's pronounced cheekbones. Sharp was the adjective that could have best described her.

She finally got to the last bundle of skeins. “Here, stretch your forearms,” she said, as she sat down, cross-legged, on the floor with one of them.

Findaráto sat down too, opposite her, their knees almost touching, and held his arms out towards her.

Carnistir draped one skein around them, and started winding the yarn around her fingers to make a ball. The yarn had a very soft, smooth texture, and a marked lustre.

“Is this silk?” 

Carnistir stopped and looked at him blankly. Then she clutched the still thin and not quite round ball with one hand and hit his head with the closed fist of the other.

“Hey!”

“Checking if you actually have a brain. It sounds hollow enough" Carnistir resumed winding, heedless of Findaráto's offended glare. “This is bamboo. You think I'd be carrying silk around like that? You have any idea of how valuable high quality pure silk is, especially if it is this thin?”

“Bamboo? I had no idea it could look like this.”

“Why do you think I buy from that dealer? He's the best when it comes to vegetable fibres”.

“But why bamboo?”

“Because.” 

Findaráto fell silent. Talking to his cousin was like walking alongside a swamp: one had to be careful where to tread to avoid a misstep that could lead to disaster, and it was tiring, even more than he had anticipated. After some time, however, it was she who asked a question.

“What were you doing in the traders' quarter?”

“Certainly not waiting for you.” Findaráto's tone was curt; Carnistir only raised a querying eyebrow.

“You wouldn't be here if I had thought you were stalking me.”

Findaráto had at one point considered doing exactly that, but the risk of being caught had deterred him, and with good cause. “I was buying calligraphy supplies.” 

“From the shop in the corner?”

“...yes.” 

“I like their red inks. They don't turn to pinkish smears once they dry on parchment.”

“I mostly buy blues...but I do agree that they make excellent wares.” Findaráto perked up again at her inquisitiveness, and felt his determination return to him.

“Yes, I also like their sketching paper.”

“I buy that too.”

“You draw?”

“From time to time.”

“What?”

“Mostly landscapes.”

Silence settled again between them, but it wasn't as vexing as before, the sluggish passage of time marked by the unraveling of the yarn, as the skein became thinner and thinner and its satiny smoothness caressed Findaráto's skin. He became so comfortable in it that he surreptitiously (and only half-consciously) inched closer, until his knees were touching Carnistir's. It could have been an accident, but she didn't fail to remark on it.

“Not sure what you have in mind, but I have six cuddly brothers and this kind of touch is not going to affect me.”

Findaráto, emboldened by the fact that she hadn't snapped at him, slid closer still, until their lower legs were pressed together. He thought he saw a flicker of amusement on her face.

He hoped the skeins would turn out to be endless.


	3. Chapter 3

Findaráto visited Carnistir every day afterwards, despite his deep-rooted prudence whispering that he should not push his luck. A week passed quickly, and during that time he learnt a number of things about his cousin. She had her own conception of order: she let all manner of things pile up around her (from notes to reference books to boxes of beads, needles and other tools) until she tired of the chaos and tidied up in a huff (but there would always be something that refused to be arranged according to her exact wishes, and she rebuffed his suggestions). She had her own vocabulary of insults and derogatory epithets, which didn't necessarily imply aversion to the people or objects they were employed for. She liked eating, and ate heartily and whenever she felt like it, but somehow remained extraordinarily thin.

Findaráto started to bring her small treats, mostly sweets, and they earned him a thank you (a rare courtesy from her) and a further insight into her preferences.

It was all welcome progress, and more than he had hoped for, but still not enough. He wanted to draw her out of her house, and closer to himself. 

Therefore he convinced her, with much subtle persuasion, to go with him to the farmers' market which was held twice a week in the lower town. Carnistir protested that she was busy, but grudgingly admitted that a couple of hours spent outside wouldn't be “too bad”, and it made him feel more satisfied than it would have been safe to.

The stalls were lined in a wide elm tree flanked avenue that started from one of the town doors and led to a park. Vendors shouted to promote their wares, buyers haggled over prices, and the place bustled with brisk activity. Carnistir didn't look particularly taken with the atmosphere, but observed everything keenly and got into a lengthy discussion with a beekeeper about the best uses of honey, tried some and bought several kinds. After she had examined every stall and what each had to offer, she also bought a roll of freshly baked sesame bread and headed to the park to eat it. Findaráto gladly followed her.

The statue soaring on top of the fountain in the middle of the park had been sculpted by Nerdanel, long before Carnistir was born, and she stopped to look at it with proud admiration. Some children were playing near it, though, so they continued to one of the furthest, quieter, corners of the enclosure and sat under a beech tree.

“You know, I would really appreciate it if you told me the real reason why you keep on pestering me,” she began casually after some time, before eating the last of her bread.

The question, and the way it was worded, took Findaráto unprepared. He stopped looking over his own purchases (he had promised his youngest brother that he would bring him some cherries) and turned to look at her.

“Is there something wrong if I want to get to know you better?” 

“I'm not talking about right or wrong, I'm talking about _why_ ,” Carnistir dared him, with an eloquent stare. “We don't have much in common.” 

“I think it's still too early -”

“We may not be exact opposites, but we do have very little in common. Grandfather's blood, and that's it, I'd say. Yet it's been a whole week now since you first followed me home and all you do is watch me. I don't believe what you're truly interested in is my craft, or what I usually eat.”

Findaráto looked away. He couldn't contradict her without lying.

“So I think my first assessment of you was correct,” resumed Carnistir, taking the protracted silence as the admission it was.

“What?”

“That you're a lecher. A pervert. Somebody who refuses to admit their desires and appetites, and still cannot suppress them, and does all they can indulge them,” she lectured, in the same patronizing tone her father would have used.

Confronted with her criticism, Findaráto's happiness plummeted and was swiftly replaced by uneasiness. “I don't think I ever did anything so despicable as to fall under that definition.”

“Considering the way you looked at me when you came for the shawl? You basically fucked me with your eyes,” Carnistir blustered, and Findaráto couldn't help blushing. 

“I may have been...intrusive,” he conceded, “but I don't deserve this sort of scorn, especially since it was you who were...behaving inappropriately.”

“So it's my fault for doing whatever I like inside my own house. Is it that what wise, gentle, Arafinwë teaches his sons?... _Uncle_ Arafinwë,” she corrected, the mockery in her tone cutting as a blade. She always conveyed whatever emotion was stirring her unrestrainedly. It was a fact he had been trying to ignore – that she took, quite simply, entirely after her father (she had nothing in common with her mother, apart from her freckles). He didn't want to associate his half-uncle's arrogance with her, and with his own interest in her (it was lucky that he had never encountered him, never even seen him, during his visits to his house).

“He certainly hasn't taught me anything as injurious as your father's impudence.”

“Being blunt is much better than being a hypocrite...and a pervert.” 

“Hypocrite?” Hypocrisy was the last flaw Findaráto would have attributed to himself, and to his father, with his aversion to disputes and mindfulness of others' feelings. “You know, it's not a coincidence that we spend so much time in Alqualondë.”

“Oh,” Carnistir's eyes widened in an exaggerated display of amazement, “it's a pity you don't esteem me enough to share your motivations with me, all the while chasing after me, Arafinwion. You might want to relieve your itch with a Telerin maid, if they accept to be treated like fools.”

Findaráto seethed, her bee-sting words pricking deep. She didn't seem to even notice his indignation (of course she didn't, he was only her half-cousin, much younger than her and an annoyance to her). He sprang up, retrieving his packets, and strode away. 

“Don't trip on your self-righteousness on your way back to Alqualondë,” she yelled after him.


	4. Chapter 4

The following day, Findaráto decided to see Carnistir one more time – and the last. His conduct towards her had in no way been reprehensible, and even if it had, she had no right to insult him, and to disparage his father. His only mistake had been to assume that he could, with time and perseverance, truly become her friend, at least. 

He didn't return Curufinwë's greeting when he passed him in the garden, but glimpsed, to his dismay, a knowing sneer on his face. Carnistir had surely told him everything. It was one more good reason to settle matters with her, once and for all. He had no intention of becoming the laughing stock of her brothers.

She was sitting under the large window in her workroom, her hands busy twining a glossy, extremely thin thread with a tatting needle.

Her hair was, for the first time since he had started visiting her, tied back tightly at the top of head and twisted in a single braid. The hairdo accentuated the sharpness of her features, made her look more feminine and more ferine at once. It also (and most importantly) leave her freckled shoulders bare, since all she seemed to be wearing, again, was a very airy shirt (probably her own work, but he didn't pause to appreciate the delicate lacework right then).

“There you are. You always have to have the last word, don't you?” she goaded as he approached, laying her work down on the table. 

Findaráto cursorily glanced at the convoluted sequence of rings and chains.

“Well? Aren't you going to scold me?” Carnistir crossed her arms over her chest and turned towards him, inclining her head so that her neck was completely exposed to him. 

Findaráto stared at it, its alluring willowy curve, contemplated her irritatingly smug face, arousal simmering inside him out of and over his vexation. He roughly grabbed her left arm and pulled her up, and wrapped his arms around her. 

The kiss was brief and shallow, his lips slid down her chin and further down along her neck. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, and for a moment he was afraid she would hit him or push him away, but she only pulled on it, hard enough to disarray his intricate braids and send a thrilling shiver throughout the length of his spine.

“Silly cousin doesn't seem to have clever words today, does he?” she whispered in his ear.

Findaráto's protest took the shape of a bite to her shoulder. His lips didn't leave her skin, he only stopped kissing it to undo the loose lacing that kept her shirt in place and yank it off of one of her shoulders. He followed the trail of her freckles, and by licks and nips got to her breasts. He had been yearning to touch them ever since he had seen them on that day. His left hand crept up to gently cup the right one and his mouth made its way to the nipple. His eyes drifted shut as his lips closed around it. 

Carnistir inhaled noisily.

The position proved to be increasingly uncomfortable in spite of his excitement, and so after a while Findaráto let go of the nub which had hardened in his mouth, and straightened. He locked eyes with Carnistir's steel grey ones. She resolutely steered them both towards couch, and lay down on it pulling him atop her. Findaráto needed no further encouragement. He knelt with one thigh between her legs and pressed it to her crotch, stooping to kiss her again, but she gripped his jaw and nibbled on his lower lip. 

“You go from whining about my rudeness to sucking on my tits,” she taunted, “you know what I call that?”

Findaráto growled and shook free of her hold, ignoring the sting on the tender flesh of his lip, to cover her mouth with his own, pressing down on her and feeling the solidity and pulsing vigour of her body against his own. Both were out of breath when he finally drew back. 

“I like you,” he panted, “I just want to be with you.”

He shifted back on his knees, determined not to give her any time to retort and ruin that moment too. His right hand lingered on her left breast for a moment, tweaked the nipple, hard even though he had not touched it, and continued down. He slipped it between her legs and inside whatever she was wearing underneath her shirt.

Carnistir muttered a curse, but didn't protest.

Findaráto's index and middle fingers slid up and down between her folds easily. She was wet. 

“It seems you don't mind my change of attitude.” 

“I didn't say that,” she breathed falteringly. The fingers glided up and fluttered over her clit. She tensed and squeezed her legs around Findaráto's own. Her voice came out hoarse. “Isn't it...what you really want?” 

“Yes,” Findaráto admitted with a hiss. He pinched the hood of her clit and her face contorted with the pleasure. It was his turn to smirk then, before bending to nuzzle her neck. He licked from below her ear down to her shoulder, and bit on it again – close to where he had left his first mark on her – in the same moment he pushed the two fingers inside her. Carnistir squirmed, and moaned loud.

The sound further incited Findaráto, and he started rubbing his cock against her thigh while he moved the two fingers inside her. 

Carnistir freely yielded to each of his caresses. When he swung his thumb upwards to tickle her clit, her eyes closed as the pleasure surged, until her back lifted off the couch and she climaxed, biting her lower lip to muffle a scream. Findaráto didn't stop the movement of his hand, relishing the moment of her rapture. After her body relaxed and she slumped back against the armrest, he pulled his fingers out and knelt back.

“Fuck.” Carnistir reopened her eyes and looked up at him fixedly for as long as it took for her breath to settle. “And you claim you aren't a hypocrite. Hiding behind a pretence of friendly inter-”

“It isn't false!” Findaráto vehemently protested. “I do admire your talent. It's just...I had no other way to approach you, and I thought -”

Carnistir made a puzzled face, urging him to continue, but he hesitated. It was a conviction that seemed absurd to him now, as he looked at her half naked chest and at her face, flushed even more after her orgasm. 

“...I thought you wouldn't be interested in sex.”

“Why on earth?” 

“You're always here, you don't seem to have many friends. And well, with your father -”

“Fucking know-all,” Carnistir snarled, “arbitrarily assuming things about people you don't know! You should have _asked_ , direct and simple.”

“I couldn't. I couldn't come to you and ask you to have sex. It would have been...cold, and offensive.” Not to mention potentially dangerous, if she had been opposed to it, but Findaráto judged it best not to say that out loud.

“Offensive? I'm far more offended by you acting like a prig. I mean, I understand if you had looked around for a couple of days, but I think I made it clear I didn't mind your presence, otherwise I wouldn't have put up with you at all.”

“Not minding someone's presence is quite different from having sex with them.” 

Carnistir pursed her lips in exasperation and threw her braid, which had been caught under her shoulders when she had lain down, over the armrest. “Sometimes I truly wonder whether you're stupid. What should I have done to convince you to try your luck? You never stopped to consider how annoying it is to work with a pair of greedy eyes glued to your every move.”

“Well, your attitude isn't exactly encouraging, and we're both princes, too. We have to be careful...we should, at least.”

“Ah yes, you're the first son. Nelyo too tends to nitpick about absurd issues of propriety. Well, I'm the fourth child and a girl, so that doesn't concern me.” Carnistir gave Findaráto a look that said she had expected him to bring politics into personal issues, a touch of amusement softening her annoyance. “The fact of the matter is – however much you try to hide behind propriety, my attitude, or my father – that you lost a whole week worth of precious time, and wouldn't have probably gotten anywhere if I hadn't prodded you. I'll be gone soon and who knows when you'll see me again.”

Findaráto frowned at the reminder, and at the realization that she had gauged him better than he had her, and had been able to pull his strings with the same deftness she worked her yarns. Perhaps his actual mistake had been acting _too_ appeasing. One can't catch a tiger by cooing it. If she was was willing to reciprocate his desire, he would simply seize his chances as they presented themselves. He would get to know her more truthfully in the process, too. He reached down to touch her again. 

She caught his arms and pushed him back. “No no, no more than this today.”

“But you just said -”

“My brothers _and_ my father are coming here soon, to make plans for the departure. We can't really do anything else. Unless you want them to catch you fucking me, that is.”

The image made Findaráto blush, and his stiff cock throb painfully in his pants, even as he realised the full extent of the risk he had just run. His eyes flitted to the two hickeys on her left shoulder.

“Yes, they're going to see these.” Carnistir let go of his hands and straightened her shirt. The marks were still clearly visible.

“...can't you cover them?” Findaráto almost pleaded. Carnistir's brothers and father becoming privy to what had transpired between them mere moments before they met with her was the quickest way to definitively kill their budding relationship. 

“I won't tell them they're yours,” Carnistir assured, and Findaráto would have been cheered by the wording if he hadn't been nagged by one other very simple fact.

“Curufinwë saw me.”

“He did?” Carnistir made a fakely worried grimace. “Well, if Curvo saw you you're done for, and there's nothing I can do about it.”

“Carnistir! Please.”

Her grimace became a grin. “Okay, I'll try to convince him to hush, but I can't really promise anything.” She lifted her right leg to stroke Findaráto's cock, silencing his next words. “Come tomorrow, after the mixing. We'll have dinner...and I'll take you to my room.” Her right hand darted to the bulge and palmed it firmly. 

Findaráto was too hard, and too aroused by the prospect, to resist. He came after only a few touches.

“Oh dear. Don't tell me you'd been bottling it all up.”

Findaráto gripped the back of the sofa to steady himself and averted his gaze. He looked so mortified that Carnistir didn't have the heart to tease him more. 

“There's a water basin behind the folding screen, if you want to clean up. But be quick.”

He nodded and shakily got to his feet.

“You owe me one.”


	5. Chapter 5

“So,” Findaráto began instead of greeting, standing in the doorway “what is _he_ doing here?”

Carnistir didn't even look up. “You're late.”

“I was...delayed.”

The mixing had long passed, and Telperion already shone in full brightness. Findaráto walked into the room, closing the door behind him. He had made his way warily (a lot more warily – and a lot more nervously – than he usually did) through the garden, but as Carnistir had assured him there was nobody around at that time of day. 

What hadn't been planned was that Curufinwë would be lying on the couch (the same couch where Findaráto had had sex with her on the previous afternoon) with his head in his sister's lap, seemingly asleep.

“He brought the tray with the food, but you weren't showing up and he kept me company,” she explained. “He was tired, so I let him take a nap. What took you so long?”

“I was...having a conversation, with my father, and lost track of time.” 

Findaráto was hesitant about mentioning his father around her after their spat in the park (although he now knew she had been purposefully mean), so he was reassured when all she said was 'that's nice'. The indolent reply however also left his mind room to focus on how she lovingly brushed her little brother's hair. Curufinwë's presence irked Findaráto not a little. He couldn't see his face. Curufinwë could very well pretend to be asleep, as a sneaky way of getting in the way. He had heard enough about him to assume him capable of such tricks.

“Have you talked to him?”

“Yes -” Carnistir drawled the word, raising her head to savour the trepidant look that knitted Findaráto's features. 

“...And?”

She took a deep breath and looked down at Curufinwë again, patting his cheek. “He agreed not to tell anybody about yesterday.”

Findaráto heaved a sigh of relief – a short-lived relief, because Carnistir immediately went on.

“But I had to tell my brothers about today.”

“What?”

"I didn't tell them _you_ would be coming. I just figured you wouldn't want them to barge in on us. They have a bad habit of never knocking. I actually couldn't get hold of the twins, I hope they won't come back before morning.”

“...what about...your parents?”

“Mom's out. She will spend the night at a friend's. Dad's working, he'll be at it until dawn at the very least...well? Won't you eat? I was hungry and ate the main course, but I'll eat dessert with you.”

Findaráto shook himself – what mattered was that there was no chance of her parents discovering him with their daughter, he could deal with her brothers – and sat at the table, lifting the ornate silver lid from the still lukewarm plate. He stared at the food. It looked inviting, but his appetite wasn't for it. Carnistir of course knew that.

“You don't like vegetables? You prefer fish?”

Findaráto cast her a warning glance. Carnistir smiled cheekily, which did nothing to ease his predicament. He half-heartedly picked up one of the rissoles and took a bite. 

“This...this is good, really good,” he gushed out. He munched on the rest of the little ball, trying to make out the flavour of the soft paste that filled his mouth. “Eggplant?”

Carnistir nodded. “And some goat's cheese for contrast. Of course it is good.”

“You have an excellent cook,” Findaráto complimented.

Carnistir, unexpectedly, took on a perplexed air. “Yes...we have an excellent cook.”

“...you cook?”

“Me? Why would I? I can barely make coimas.”

She didn't elaborate further and Findaráto let the matter drop. He didn't care about who had cooked the food. Tasty as they were, he wanted to be rid of the rissoles as quickly as possible. Thankfully they weren't many. After he finished them along with the bed of thinly sliced baked potatoes they had been laid on, and only dessert was left, Carnistir woke Curufinwë, with a light kiss planted to his forehead. 

Curufinwë stirred and mumbled something.

“Cousin Findaráto finally got here,” Carnistir murmured back to him. 

Curufinwë sat up, rubbing his face. The insistence of the gesture reinforced Findaráto's conviction that he had only pretended to sleep. He took his leave from his sister with a silent exchange, hugged her, and stood up.

“Cousin,” he suavely intoned, walking up to where Findaráto was sitting, with the faintest trace of drowsiness in his expression. “I hope you will enjoy your stay.” 

The ostensibly polite greeting had unavoidable less savoury undertones given the circumstances.

“I plan to,” Findaráto replied, daring Curufinwë to object.

Curufinwë gracefully bowed right in front of him and his voice dropped to an insinuating whisper. “Be careful, little wanton cousin. _You_ might be the one getting eaten soon.”

Heat shot to Findaráto's groin and back up to his face. “I- I can look after myself.”

“Not so well, from what I've heard.” The corners of Curufinwë's mouth pulled up in an amused smirk and he strutted out of the room. 

Carnistir watched him go before sitting down next to Findaráto. She uncovered two soft, creamy cakes from a second tray, and dipped a spoon into one of them. 

“Was it really necessary to...share the details with him? I mean, he's your brother -” 

“He's my brother and we don't have secrets for each other. Besides, he's not stupid, and he worries about me, too.” Carnistir brought the spoonful to her mouth, licking it clean, while smoothing her shirt with her free hand. It was the same shirt she had worn on the previous day (though she wore pants too now). The hickeys were still clearly visible.

Findaráto shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “He didn't seem _worried_ to me.”

Carnistir ignored his indirect protest. “What about you? Have you told your brothers?” 

“My brothers? They're too young.”

“I forget their ages.”

“Angaráto is 37 and Ambaráto is 19.”

Watching Carnistir eat was usually enjoyable. She did it with an unabashed zest that was the most charming aspect of her brashness, but it only added to Findaráto's restlessness right then (and all the more thanks to Curufinwë's words). He slowly picked at his own cake, and pushed it towards Carnistir as soon as she was done with hers. 

“Poor cook would be distraught if I told him you didn't enjoy his food.”

“That's not what I came here for.”

“Such a shame.” Carnistir lifted a gob of cake with her spoon and brought it to Findaráto's mouth. He accepted it without taking his eyes off of hers. She leant in. “Let's finish it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "coimas" is the Quenya word for lembas. Angrod and Aegnor are respectively 13 and 7 in human terms.


	6. Chapter 6

Findaráto didn't remember much of the walk to Carnistir's room. He knew only that seconds stretched to minutes, and that every small sound made his heart jump in his chest, and that the palm of the hand Carnistir held in her own was embarrassingly sweaty. The outline of one of her mother's statues in the dim light of one of the corridors they traversed made him start and nearly stop. She laughed softly. “You'll be where you want to be very soon,” she whispered, and pulled him along.

Once they were finally inside her room – and it was nowhere near soon enough – safely, door closed and lights out apart from two lamps that cast enough light above the large bed for him to see her, he sat on the colourful bedspread, naked. 

She knelt astride him, completely naked too, but with a crown of flowers inked around her hips, just below the navel.

“I had it tattooed by a friend, not long ago,” she said, as Findaráto traced the intricate intersections of leaves and petals. “You could have noticed it, that first day you came, but you were too taken with ogling my tits.”

“I don't regret that.” Not when he _finally_ had them right there in front of him. His fingers left her waist and crept up to gently massage them, revelling in their softness and silky smoothness, to be soon replaced by his mouth. His hands restlessly glided around her, and grasped her, as if he were unable to decide whether he wanted to hold onto her sides, or hug her or just stroke her skin. 

“You are-...you are heavier than you look,” he mumbled in between sucking and lavishing kisses on each perky breast as well as on the freckled skin between the two. Taking her pants off had revealed a pair of sturdy thighs and equally firm bottom.

“You mind that?” 

“No...” Findaráto's hands glided down to her buttocks and palmed them. “Not at all.”

“My height makes me look thinner than I am.”

“And the way you dress.”

“You really don't like the way I dress, do you?”

“...I prefer you naked.” 

Carnistir's mouth curved into a lopsided grin, but she made no comment, no taunting remark. She shifted on her knees instead, so that her moist quim hovered even closer to his now fully erect cock. 

“Will you just play with my breasts?”

“What if I wanted to?” He didn't of course, but he wanted to take his time. He caught one nub between his teeth and pulled on it, making her writhe. 

Carnistir moaned, but her impatience grew the more hungrily Findaráto's mouth sucked on her nipples. 

“Touch me,” she demanded. Her clit tingled with arousal, and when he lay his right hand on her belly and dropped his thumb down to caress it, she didn't hold back her appreciation, squeezing his face against her chest and bending down to nibble on his eartip. His cock brushed against her folds with the movement, and she made to lower a hand towards it, then abruptly stopped. 

There was the sound of heavy footfalls in the corridor. 

Findaráto pulled back and looked up at her with dread-filled eyes, but had no time to do anything else. 

“Morië!” a ringing voice called, the door burst open, and one of the twins barged into the room.

Findaráto was sure his heart stopped beating for a moment. The twin's voice sounded exactly like his father's, low and gruff, and he had believed Fëanáro was the one heading to the room.

“Telvo,” Carnistir greeted, mildly surprised, shifting back off of Findaráto's groin.

Telufinwë surveyed the scene with some puzzlement, but like his sister showed no embarrassment, and no contriteness either.

“I didn't know you had company,” he said breezily, looking Findaráto up and down. 

The fear had defused Findaráto's excitement – thankfully – still he quickly took hold of a corner of the bedspread to cover himself. Telufinwë hardly took notice. 

“Of course you didn't, since you and Pityo left before the mingling this morning.”

Telufinwë threw his cape on the floor, shucked his boots off, and climbed onto the bed, where he sat behind Carnistir, wrapping his arms around her and nestling his head onto her shoulder.

“I'm tired,” he complained.

Carnistir looked at his dirt-stained hands, and frowned. “Wherever have you been?”

“You'll see. Pityo's coming with our haul.”

Findaráto's eyes flitted nervously between the wide-open door, and the drowsy twin hugging his naked sister like it was the most natural thing in the world. _He's young_ , he told himself – but no, the twins were only three years younger than him and youth alone wouldn't have justified the ease with which he clung to Carnistir.

Then again, Carnistir had said her brothers were cuddly.

Telufinwë pressed her even closer to his chest, peering at Findaráto over her shoulder. “So he was the mystery hickey giver from yesterday...Turco assumed it was your best friend.”

“I know. I told Turco he should mind his own business. I don't keep a record of the times he gets laid and who he gets laid by.”

Telufinwë snickered and closed his eyes. 

Findaráto had the urge to stand up and leave, even naked, but he was still so stunned he wasn't sure he could do more than wobble, and who knew who else he could find skulking in the dark of the house. It would have been ironic to get himself out of that predicament only to bump into Fëanáro himself. He couldn't escape the mortifying awkwardness of that situation in any other way, however, and he had almost convinced himself to leave when, as if on cue, more footsteps sounded in the corridor.

Pityafinwë strode into the room a moment later, seemingly ignoring Findaráto's presence, and threw a large sack on the floor, which he opened to reveal a heap of reddish roots.

Carnistir's face lit with joy the moment she saw them. “Where did you get all those madder roots?”

“We climbed the hill...the one to the northwest.” 

“You needed them to die some yarn, right?” Telufinwë reopened his eyes and straightened a little. “Tomorrow we'll wash them and cut them up for you...aren't we good?”

Carnistir twisted her neck to look back at him. “I love you both.”

Telufinwë planted a kiss on her cheek, sloppy, but chaste, almost childish. 

Pityafinwë did the same, leaning over the bed close to where Findaráto stiffly sat.

“Let's sleep now. I hope you don't mind?” he asked, turning towards him. 

Findaráto looked him in the eye and realised Telufinwë had probably warned him of his presence. He also realised, though with some delay, that the twins meant to sleep in that room. 

“Don't you have a room of your own?” he asked, rather caustically. Not that he planned to resume from where Carnistir and he had been interrupted – his arousal was done for for that night – but at least he would have liked some more time alone with her, to ask her a couple of questions, too.

“We do, of course,” replied Pityafinwë, while undressing down to his breeches. 

“We love our sister,” Telufinwë added, by way of justification. 

“I think...I think I'd better leave -”

“Why? There's plenty of room for the four of us on the bed,” Pityafinwë objected with exasperating serenity, and freed his impressive mane of dark rust coloured hair from a simple ponytail. “We're glad you like our sister too, of course.”

Findaráto clenched his jaw. He knew when it was useless to reason, and, more importantly, when he didn't possess the clarity of mind to do it pacifically. Ending the night he should spent having sex with Carnistir quarrelling with her brothers wasn't an appealing prospect. 

Carnistir asked Pityafinwë to retrieve their undergarments from the armchair where they had dropped their clothes, settling the matter.

The bed was quite large, but not large enough that four people could lie in it without being very close to each other. Findaráto doubted he could sleep, his agitation notwithstanding, with Pityafinwë breathing down the back of his neck. At least, both twins fell asleep almost immediately after lying down. He was left to look at Carnistir – her mischievously amused face, her breasts and her shoulders framed by Telufinwë's red curls. He had been right when he had decided he should draw her out of her house. Six brothers were too many. 

“Tomorrow you're coming to the palace, to my room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a fan of the whole Ambarussa/Ambarto/Umbarto business, so I tend to use the twins' father-names when writing them in a Quenya setting (Pityafinwë = Amrod and Telufinwë = Amras). As for their ages, Finrod is about the equivalent of a human 19 year old, and the twins are around 18 (Caranthir is much older, in elven years, but still in her early twenties in human terms).


	7. Chapter 7

It was mid-morning when Maitimo soundlessly opened the door to his sister's bedroom, and just as soundlessly slipped inside. Laurelin's warm light poured in from the half-open curtains, and allowed him to dodge the trails of dirt and crushed grass blades which testified to the twins' passage. They had left at daybreak, and had provided their older brothers – except Tyelcormo, who had headed out while it was still dark – a vivid account of how they had found Findaráto in their sister's bed over breakfast.

Findaráto and Carnistir had ended up in a tangle – Carnistir's left leg swung over Findaráto's, and Findaráto's right arm wrapped around her. The bedspread had fallen off the bed, and lay crumpled on the floor. Maitimo picked it up and carefully folded it. It was the first Carnistir had managed to make in the form of a eight-pointed star, her own design, and she was very attached to it. 

“Morië...Morië, wake up. Father is looking for you,” he called then, stooping over her. She didn't stir. Maitimo smiled – Carnistir was normally a light sleeper – and sat down next to her. He combed her hair away form her face and softly called to her again, while caressing her cheek.

Carnistir's face reacted to the touch and one of her eyes twitched open. She recognised Maitimo more by the lack of any noise than by the vague haze of his red hair. One of the twins wouldn't have been as quiet.

“You must get up, Father is looking for you,” he whispered.

“Father?” Carnistir mumbled. She opened her other eye too and instantly closed them both again to repel the unexpected burst of light. “Fuck,” she swore before reopening them, “it must be midday”.

“Almost,” Maitimo confirmed. “Quick, get dressed.”

Carnistir disentangled herself from Findaráto, glancing at him for a moment, and sat up.

“What does Father want?”

“He didn't tell. But you are always up and about by this time of day.”

Carnistir groaned. She shakily stood up, and put on the evening's clothes, doing her best not to look too dishevelled.

Maitimo waited until she had slammed the door shut behind her, then turned to Findaráto.

“You heard?”

Findaráto dropped all pretence of still being asleep.

“Yes,” he croaked, staring at the ceiling. He had awoken when Maitimo entered, too jittery not to be disturbed by the presence of another person in the room. “So-...your father-...”

“I'll tell him you came to see me, if need be.”

Findaráto turned his head towards his cousin, relieved by his understanding. He didn't want to imagine how things could have turned out if Curufinwë had been the one to come rouse his sister. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to take a bath? Or would you like something to eat first?”

Findaráto refused both offers. He just wanted to go home. Maitimo escorted him to the side door next to the kitchen, from which Findaráto could dive into the narrow alley separating Fëanáro's house from that of his neighbour. He preferred not to be seen on the main street, not in the state he was in, at least until he was as far away as possible from the area.

His mother did note his despondency when he got back to the palace, but he didn't feel like talking to her, and she only laid a kiss to his forehead by way of greeting, without remarking on his drowsy appearance, or asking where he had been. Eärwen wasn't an intrusive person by nature, and she did her best never to pressure her children.

He didn't eat much of the food a servant took to his rooms soon after, and spent the first half of the afternoon lying on his bed, still fully dressed. He was tired – he had spent the better part of the night awake and brooding – and all his mind seemed to be able to focus on was his disappointment, no matter how determinedly he tried to think of something else. His dalliance with Carnistir was supposed to be merely that, a titillating, but ultimately light-hearted romp. He had Amárië (how long had it been since he has last seen her?). His reaction was excessive. His father often said that he had a tendency to take things too seriously, and he was probably right.

After much turning and tossing, he forced himself to leave the bed. His eyes fell on the cabinet where he kept his drawing supplies. He retrieved them, and sat at the table in the morning room, pushing the tray with the nibbled food to one side. He began sketching Carnistir. Her lean face, her smirk, the curve of her neck. Her freckles, tiny dots he rained all over her upper chest. Her naked body, as he had seen it, and in other positions, as he would have wanted her. 

His unfulfilled need resurged. The very hand with which he drew remembered the softness of her skin, her heat. A very faint whiff of the scent of her room (it was ironic he should only notice it then) clung to his own clothes. He marched to the bathroom. Bringing himself to release did little to defuse his annoyance at his own reaction, but eased some of his frustration. He took a long, relaxing bath afterwards, and decided to head out, or seek his father, or his mother, and talk to them, now that he was more relaxed. 

He had just finished braiding his hair again – a simple hairdo of three braids per side – when there was a knock at the door. He had told the servants not to disturb him, but perhaps one had come back to take the tray away.

He peeked his head around the bathroom door. “Yes?”

“Ingo, it's me.”

It was Turucáno's voice. Half an hour earlier Findaráto wouldn't have been thrilled by such a visit. Turucáno always had good timing. Findaráto liked to think that it was because they had been born only one month apart. 

“Come in.”

He heard the door click open, and quickly darted a last look in the direction of the mirror. When he stepped into the morning room, he found Turucáno flipping through his sketchbook. He had completely forgotten he had left it open right in the middle of the table.

Turucáno looked up, his lips slightly pursed in what Findaráto recognised as a manifestation of puzzlement.

“...is this...Morifinwë?”

Findaráto imperceptibly shrugged one shoulder.

Turucáno cocked his head, and turned a couple of pages, his expression colouring with various declinations of surprise, and perhaps a little curiosity. “You had sex with her?”

“Yes...more or less.”

“More or less?”

“It's a...uh- long story,” Findaráto stuttered. He wished for a moment he had been more careful with the sketchbook, or that he could go back in time and never try to approach Carnistir in the first place, since all he seemed to get out of it was awkward situation after awkward situation. He brushed a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

“May I ask why?”

“Well, because I'm-...I'm attracted to her...obviously.”

“Obviously,” Turucáno echoed. His flat tone made it clear that he didn't consider the circumstance obvious at all. He got to the last drawing, the most daring, and looked away, flushing a little. Findaráto crossed the room to take the sketchbook from him, careful not to glance at it. 

“What about Amárië?” Turucáno ventured.

“It's a different thing.”

Findaráto tied the cord around the sketchbook with a tight knot, and put it back in its case. “Why have you come here?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Turucáno didn't reply, but stared at him with an offendend air.

“Oh, right.” Findaráto remembered they had agreed to meet, in the morning of the previous day, when he had been convinced he'd be jubilant, after a night -. He shook his head. “...right. Sorry.”

“...do you wish to talk?”

“...yes. Yes, that would probably help.”

They took the quickest route out of town, the road to the east and to the sea, and went as far as the stream which rolled down from the sheer slopes of the Calacirya to the north. They sat under one of the willow trees lined on its bank, and spent the rest of the afternoon there, talking. Findaráto kept the most embarrassing details of his visits to their cousin to himself, and complained at length of Curufinwë and of the twins. He never mentioned Fëanáro, and Turucáno at one point avowed he found the fact that he had never run into him quite suspicious.

“From what I've seen of him in public, I'd be hard pressed not to assume he'd want to keep his children on a leash, if it were at all possible.”

“He's always working.”

“Still it seems odd to me that he wouldn't keep an eye on who visits his house. You said you've been there how many times?”

Findaráto considered the possibility, and immediately dismissed it. “You think I'd still be whole if he knew?”

Turucáno had to concede that Findaráto had a point, and the issue was left at that. They ate a couple roasted corn cobs from a street vendor on their way back to the palace, where Findaráto wanted to say goodnight to his brothers before they went to sleep. He hadn't seen them all day, and felt a little guilty about it. He also wanted to speak to his parents, before following Turucáno to his house. Turucáno in the meanwhile headed to Findaráto's room to retrieve a book he had lent him. 

There, lying face down on Findaráto's bed, he found the very object of the afternoon's conversation. 

Naked.

“What on earth-...?”

Carnistir rolled over and sat up, her creased brow mirroring Turucáno's befuddlement.

“Well?” she said. “What are you doing here?”


	8. Chapter 8

“What am I doing here?” Turucáno parroted, his voice rising in anger, and heat rising to his cheeks at the sight in front of him. He wasn't a prude, but a _naked_ Carnistir was the last thing he would have expected to see in Findaráto's bedroom, and furthermore Carnistir seemed to have no intention of covering herself, didn't even seem to be bothered by the fact that he had seen her like that. “What are _you_ doing here!”

Carnistir pursed her lips in annoyance and twirled her hair around her fingers, pulling it away from her chest. Turucáno did his best not to let his eyes stray from her face. 

“Findaráto told me to come.”

Turucáno snorted, making a nervous gesture with his right hand. “And you just let yourself in here, and –”

“What, I should have asked to be escorted and alerted the whole Palace to the fact that I'm going to spend the night in my cousin's room? I'm sure Findaráto would have been thrilled with that!” Carnistir scoffed, then shrugged one shoulder. “He told me to come here, but he wasn't around so I just made myself comfortable.”

“That's still rude!” 

“Rude? Why? He's been coming unannounced to my house for days.”

“He didn't just barge in when you weren't there and get naked.”

Carnistir's eyes narrowed. “...he told you about our encounters?”

“We're friends,” Turucáno said solemnly, lifting his chin.

His assertion didn't particularly impress Carnistir, who met it with a condescending look. “Well, this doesn't concern you either way so just leave.”

Turucáno clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He couldn't understand why Findaráto liked her. He didn't understand what there was to like about her. There was absolutely _nothing_ to like about her. She was as arrogant as her father, rude as him, and not particularly beautiful either. “Get out of here,” he enjoined, pointing at the door.

“What?” Carnistir said, mocking, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips until she realised Turucáno was serious. “You can't order me around.”

“I know Findaráto better than you do, and I know what good manners are, too.”

“ _You_ can't command me,” Carnistir repeated, springing up from the bed, her nudity in full view. Turucáno flinched. He forced his eyes to focus on her face and resisted the urge to take a step back even as she advanced on him. “I'm older than you, and my father precedes yours.”

They stood inches from each other, glaring daggers at each other, Carnistir's ruddy face thrust up and Turucáno towering over her with his shoulders stiffened up, angrily tense. They were so focused on one another that they didn't hear the door click open, nor the sound of footfalls as Findaráto came up behind them, puzzled by Turucáno's long delay.

“Turvo, what's the matter?” he said, then peered around Turucáno's large frame and his jaw almost dropped to the floor.

Carnistir leapt towards him, roughly pushing Turucáno out of the way. “There you are!” 

She wrapped her arms around Findaráto's neck, and his breath caught in his throat. He heard Turucáno mumble something and attempted to turn, but Carnistir didn't let him. She pressed herself against him, her naked, warm body a welcome weight to support, and leaned forwards. He felt her hardened nipples brush against his chest, and her lips land gently on his right cheek. Their soft and slightly moist caress made him shiver.

He let out a needy groan and tilted his head sideways to meet them. He vaguely heard Turucáno storm out of the room and slam the door behind him, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much about Turucáno right then. His hands came to rest on Carnistir's hips. He pushed her towards the bed and down on it, and lay above her, pinning her arms above her head. He kissed her again, plunging his tongue into her mouth and exploring every nook of it. 

The taste of her was in his own mouth as he pulled back, and looked at her almost in wonder, his eyes tracing the inked flower around her waist.

“Your father –”

Carnistir's face fell. “Oh my god! I can't believe you'd be thinking of my father at such a moment!” she exclaimed and heaved long-suffering sigh. “...I told him I was coming to see Grandpa. He's working, he won't notice I'm gone if we get everything done by daybreak.” She lifted her right knee to poke his very stiff dick. “Undress, instead of worrying about my father.”

Findaráto flushed, nodded dazedly and stood up again. His shaking hands fumbled with the laces and buttons of his trousers and underpants, and he cursed inwardly for having changed into them after returning to his rooms. The ones he had worn the previous day were much quicker to take off. Carnistir watched him with undisguised amusement, propping herself up on her elbows. Her smile morphed into a grin the longer she saw him getting tangled in his own clothing. When she clicked her tongue, Findaráto turned towards the bed, and she pulled up her legs and opened them wide, giving him an unhindered view of her quim. 

Findaráto nearly fell over. The laces of his trousers had knit themselves into an impossible knot and all he could do was pull on them until the leather snapped.

His cock was fully hard and twitching when he managed to completely divest himself. He threw himself on the bed again without losing a moment more, trapping Carnistir under his body. He was delighted to feel her taut nipples brush against his chest again, skin on skin this time. He slipped a hand between her legs, cupping her warm quim. He stuck a finger between her folds; they parted easily, and his finger glided through slick, inviting wetness. He looked into her eyes as he drew back a little and settled between her legs. 

Carnistir didn't voice any protest at the lack of any foreplay. Findaráto took his cock in hand and lined it with her opening, still holding her gaze. She gave him a decisive nod and rubbed herself against his cockhead.

Findaráto took one more slow, shuddering breath and – finally – thrust inside her.


End file.
